A Moment, Passing
by northernexposure
Summary: Missing H/R scene for 10.3. Short and bitter.


**A Moment, Passing.**

**A/N** – Missing scene from 10.3. Vague spoilers for that episode. Short and bitter.

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><p>When they say goodnight, she calls him William, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Ruth watches the Home Secretary's car pull away into the intermittent lamplight of her road, and waits until it reaches the corner. The brake lights glow like red embers in the dark.<p>

Ruth heads for her door, dodging shadows and looking at her feet. She wonders, given his comment over dinner, whether she does that a lot. Looking at her feet, she clarifies to herself, rather than dodging shadows, although given her profession it's a toss-up. Ruth realises that she probably does both entirely too much.

She decides that it's time for change, and looks up, instead. It's how she first sees him, lurking there, in the shadow of her porch. Harry has hunched one shoulder against the wall. He is wearing his coat, but his collar is undone.

Ruth looks down at her feet.

She pulls her keys from her pocket. "What are you doing here?"

"William?" He asks, softly, and when she looks at him he is looking out, toward the spot where the car pulled up.

"We – it was a work dinner." She takes a breath and looks up. "He – he wants me to work with him."

"And so he told you to call him – William?"

Ruth blinks, unsure she wants to understand exactly what Harry means by that. "What are you doing here?" She asks again, instead.

He pushes away from the wall and steps toward her. The porch light comes on, and she sees that he is tired. The lines beneath Harry's eyes are deeper than usual, and his mouth sags at the corners.

"What does he want you to do for him?"

She shakes her head. "That's not-"

"It _is_ my business. I'm your boss, remember?"

Ruth looks him in the eye. "He thinks I have been under-promoted. Under-used. He wants to create a new position. Some sort of advisory role."

"Under him, of course."

She does not answer that. His jealousy is palpable, but they have been so distant for so long that she cannot see how it applies to her.

"I always assumed he was gay."

"That," she says, anger rising, "is beneath you."

She turns her back on him, stepping to her door, but he catches her hand to stop her. It's the same hand that Elena touched, and Ruth stares down at his fingers in the same way – nonplussed, really. Out of her depth, again, and if there is one place she hates to be it is somewhere she cannot comprehend.

Harry brushes his thumb across her knuckle. "Are you going to go?"

Ruth swallows, but does not pull her hand away. She can't remember the last time they touched like this. She can't remember if they ever have at all.

"I think it's time. Don't you?"

He looks up at her, his blue eyes laced with the same sadness carried by his tone. "Time for what?"

Ruth makes a sound in her throat, something halfway between a sob and a laugh. He doesn't drop her gaze, and in his eyes she sees everything she ever loved in him. But it is not as overwhelming as it used to be. She's seen it many times, you see. She's seen it many times, but never touched it. She's never felt it envelope her the way good love should.

"Don't leave me," he says, then. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Ruth."

She shakes her head. _What is there to leave?_ She wonders. "I'm – it's a _job_, Harry. I'm – it's a _promotion_."

He blinks. "It's never been just a job."

"Well, it should have been. Maybe I would have had a larger life – maybe we both would have had a larger life, if…"

He nods, slowly, as she trails off. "You know… You know that Elena… It's not – I'm not… I mean…" he takes a breath, and tries again. "I can't go back, Ruth. I don't want to go back. It's just memories. It's just – history."

She stares at him, shocked – though she shouldn't be – at how quickly he can segue from professional to personal.

"It's you. I still feel-" he tries, but she shakes her head.

"Don't. Don't, just – _don't_."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't do any good. It's – too late. It's too late."

"You can't really think that."

"We've been having this conversation in two different _decades_, Harry!"

"Doesn't that tell you something?"

She shakes her head. "We never told each other anything. Not really. And too much has been left unsaid."

"I love you," Harry says. He says it sadly, as if saying the words are the best that he can hope for.

She lets the silence drift for a moment. Somewhere in the distance, a car alarm starts up. It echoes in the night, screaming for help, but no one comes.

"The problem is – _everything_'s history, isn't it, Harry? We can't escape the past, and we can't embrace it. It's too huge. It's too… too familiar. And there's too much of it to navigate."

"Then tell me what we do."

"We move on," she says. "It's all we _can_ do, isn't it? Before it's too late to make anything of ourselves at all."

She wonders, for a moment, if he might try to kiss her. She wonders, for a moment, if she might let him. But he doesn't try, and the moment passes.

[END]


End file.
